The Vunerable Sides of SHIELD Assassins
by LivingInABubble
Summary: A couple of little drabbles about some of the more personal moments Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton have, including tattoos and mugs. Slight Clintasha/BlackHawk. Oneshot series. Rated M as a precaution, nothing gross or *intimate*. Just some drabble about the softer, more personal sides of our favourite assassins.
1. Tattoos

To live as an assassin, there were many personal sacrifices that one had to make, but at the end of the day it came down to two simple things.

The first, do not, under any circumstance, become emotionally attached to anything. No humans, no animals, no inanimate objects. Everyone would die eventually, everything would be destroyed with time.

The second was even more important than the first. Quite simply, do not be recognisable by something permanent. Hair colours could change, contacts could be swapped, clothes could be replaced, but scars and tattoos can't. Stay a blank canvas, adaptable to circumstance.

That was why Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton's choices were so peculiar.

They met long before any government agencies were tracking them, long before other mercenaries were whispering about them. They had been mere kids, forced to do others' bidding. They had bonded quickly, spending days on end exploring the world together. They would be ripped away, but like magnets, they found their way back to each other.

Natasha had seen Clint perform in the circus, and he had been to her ballet recitals. When they got older and their missions spanned across the world, they set up safe houses and stayed together when their paths crossed. When they became freelance, they worked together and protected each other. When Clint joined the army, Natasha encouraged him and was present at all ceremonies. When Natasha wanted to dance again, Clint brought a piano and played so she could. When S.H.I.E.L.D came around, they couldn't work with anybody else. They were S.T.R.I.K.E team: Delta, six people short of your average S.T.R.I.K.E team, yet they were the most successful team on missions. When Nicholas Fury and Drew Lanning formed a team made up of government agents from all over the world, it was no surprise that Natasha and Clint were a package deal.

There was nothing they did apart, should they have the choice, and tattoos were no exception.

They were around sixteen when they decided to break the second rule, as the first rule had long since been destroyed in terms of their relationship. It was not a spur of the moment decision, nor one that they took lightly. They discussed it for weeks, weighing up the pros and cons and deciding that, provided the chose the right placement, it was worth the risk.

The next time they crossed a tattoo parlour, they were in Spain. The shop looked a little dodgy, but it proved to be useful as nobody asked to look at identification for age verification. Clint went first, getting an arrow etched on his back, the word 'dauntless' written in block letters to form the shaft. It ran from a few inches below the nape of his neck to the bottom of his shoulder blades. It was the easiest place to cover that still looked decent, and it worked out quite well.

Natasha shocked the artist when it was her turn, not even flinching when the needle pierced her skin. Apparently he had expected Clint to be unaffected, but he thought a young, delicate girl would at least wince. She had the same word marked on her hip, written in a delicate font and positioned so that it would be hidden by her clothing, provided she wasn't careless. Like Clint, Natasha added her own touch to the word, but opted out of her weapons of choice. Instead, she chose to have a small, simple outline of an elephant next the last letter.

Clint later told Natasha that he chose an arrow not because it was his weapon of choice, but because of the metaphor it presented. An arrow goes back before it goes forward, and that was something that Clint could relate to. For every bad thing that happened in his life, he had to remember the good. Natasha in turn, revealed that she had chosen an elephant because, to her, they were an immensely strong creature with admirable loyalty and dedication, three things she held a great respect for and strived to be every day.

Natasha and Clint may have broken both rules with very little hesitation, neither regretted their choices for a second as they both got to live a proper life, rather than the alternative of living in isolation until they met their demise.

I own absolutely nothing... Not even the computer I'm typing on.


	2. Kinstugi

Due to some awesome people who reviewed and favourited, not to mention OVER 200 people reading the first one-shot, I thought I would smack some more oneshots in. So thankyou wonderful humans for existing and reading this.

This time it's... *insert dramatic drum roll her* ...Kinstugi!

Kinstugi is the art of repairing broken ceramics with silver or gold. I've been a bit obsessed with it lately and I thought, well, why not?

Clintasha + smashing ceramic bowls + gold + one of the reasons that Natasha Romanoff would cry and what Nick Fury and Clint Barton would do to make her smile.

Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton were well versed in the world of loosing things they cared about, and both had long since perfected the art of not getting attached.

Unfortunately, they had a habit of breaking the rules, even their own.

The only reason Natasha and Clint met was because they had an affinity for hot chocolate when they were young teenagers. They had met in a coffee shop, and it became a habit of sorts. Natasha would get to the small shop just after ten in the morning, and Clint would enter within a half hour of her. They would sit at a table and talk about anything that wasn't related to violence, from kittens to architecture, desperate to grasp onto whatever normalcy they could have.

Eventually the waitress who owned the tiny shop new the pair by name, having their drinks ready as they walked in the door and was the closest thing either child had to a mother since they were small. When the time came that Natasha was moved to another country and Clint a different state, the owner gave them the mugs that they had used each day of the previous two years.

It came as no surprise to Clint that when Natasha broke her mug, she cried. It was not the first time she had cried, but it was the first time she had allowed herself to cry over an object she cared about, and it was heart breaking. When he saw her sitting on the floor, leaning against the cabinet with tears running down her cheeks, there were very few things he wouldn't do to help ease her pain.

Clint enlisted the help of S.H.I.E.L.D's director, Nicholas Fury, when he came up with a slightly ridiculous solution.

There were many ways to fix a broken cup, but there was something Clint thought would be perfect. It was expensive, required Fury asking a contact to travel across the country and to do so without Natasha knowing was extremely difficult, to say the least.

After a three week mission that was physically and mentally taxing, Natasha and Clint finally returned to the New York S.H.I.E.L.D base. With sixteen broken bones between the two, four stab wounds and a bout of water boarding, it had not been one of their better missions.

They made a mandatory stop in medical, getting chided for their 'carelessness' before going to Fury's office for the debrief. The look on Natasha's face was priceless when she saw the little white mug sitting on the edge of Fury's desk, glued together with gold. It highlighted the flaws, yet it was one of the prettiest things Natasha had ever seen. Tears openly flowed down her cheeks when she turned to her partner, her unspoken question clear.

"Took us a while, but it was worth it. Nick called Pamela over specifically, she was overjoyed. Misses you." It was a very movie-esque moment, Clint rambling on about an old friend while Natasha stood with her hands over her mouth and tears on her cheeks, but it was special to both assassins. One of Natasha's most valued possessions was back, Clint had restored a tiny bit of Natasha's faith in humanity and Fury simply sat behind his desk, unnoticed by the two caught up in the moment as he marvelled at the sheer vulnerability of the situation.

The only words Natasha could find were 'thank you', something that was a first considering her profession. Fury picked up the mug and walked over, handing it to Natasha and watching as the tough as nails assassin dropped her façade, handing the cup to Clint as she hugged the director. "Thank you." Fury grinned as Natasha unlatched herself, only to end up in Clint's arms once more.

It may have been the only time Fury ever did an agent's paperwork for them, but he couldn't find it within himself to be angry.

Because of that cup, Natasha finally accepted that maybe flaws really could be beautiful.

Because of that cup, Clint valued everything he had that little bit more.

Because of that cup, Fury decided that if you try hard enough, it may just be possible to have some kind of twisted happy ending.

Not the best thing I have ever written, but I kind of don't care.

Fury is epic, I don't own a single damned grape, reviews are magical, Thank you, BYEEEEE!


	3. Style

So, I had every intention of waiting a few more days until I posted again, but damn! You people are amazing, so I decided, why not? I'm bored, it's to hot to be outside all day and I have ideas... so many ideas...

Feminist time! Well, it's basically a Natasha-centric one shot to describe some of Natasha's not so bad-ass habits, including bubbles baths and fluffy socks. The next shall be Clint-central.

Thank you so much for reading, I can not describe how happy it makes me and please, please review, I love hearing people's opinions and I am open to suggestions for future chapters.

I own nothing, my cat even belongs to my mother, I ain't about to take over Marvel. Cheerio!

Natasha Romanoff had a certain reputation that involved an awful lot of seduction, murder and violence. That meant she spent a lot of her life in short dresses and high heels with a perfect manicure.

It was all a façade, a cover to provide some kind of intimidating status. No matter how fun it could be to dress up and look pretty, it was a whole different thing when she was being put on show, used to complete a mission in a way that was nothing but demeaning. After fifteen years of repeating the process, Natasha was used to it but hated it more and more each time.

That was the reason why her home life looked like utter chaos. Her outfits often consisted of leggings and sweatshirts, or track pants and a tank top. Her hair would never be in a fancy French twist, it would be scrunched up in a messy bun on top of her head or falling to her waist in a mess of un-brushed curls. High heels were swapped for ugg boots and flats, short skirts were replaced with ripped shorts. She ate her dinner on the couch and her breakfast cereal from the box and her lunch, not in a high end restaurant with comms. in her ears.

When Maria Hill first saw Natasha's apartment, she had not needed any explanation. A woman in their profession valued their down time, and the unorganised state which they were allowed. Sharon Carter had laughed and sworn that her apartment looked exactly the same, only with a few more clothes strewn around the floor. Chastity McBryde had expressed her newly expanded respect for Natasha, and Lana Bellesini, her neighbour, had laughed and called it neat.

Aside from her clothing habits and the dispersal of said clothing, Natasha had an affinity for bubble baths, fuzzy socks and wine. If one were to ask for her reasons, she would probably feed them some story about unicorns and be convincing enough that they would believe it. In all reality, it was because it was the only way Natasha knew who to embrace the 'girly' side without embracing everything she hated about herself, everything she did to seduce and kill. Clint was the only person in the world who knew that, both because they lived together and because he understood completely, more often than not sitting beside her as she watched Disney movies for the fifteenth time. It was something that Natasha was eternally grateful for, and she was fairly sure she had memorised every word to the Lion King and the Little Mermaid.

While Natasha had her moments of drinking beer and swearing like a sailor, but she enjoyed the simple elegance that came with summer dresses and sandals, bare feet on sand and hair blowing in the wind. If one was to ask Natasha what she loved most about her life, it would be free will, the chance to be whoever she wanted to be, wherever she wanted to be.


	4. Weapons

I give you my greatest thanks for reading this, please R&R, because there is nothing better.

This is the last oneshot of this series, I am focusing on two other projects now, one of which is a bit more romance-y and the other is more of an origin story, both of which I wish to pursue beyond a few oneshot chapters. I am sad that I only got four chapters out of this, but I feel any more and it would become boring and repetitive. I got what I wanted, my first story published and an amazing response (Thankyou for that), and I don't wasn't to drag anything out.

I hardly own any clothes, let alone Marvel. I wouldn't even want to, because I couldn't do half as good as the awesome people of Marvel do.

This will be completely Clint-centric, focusing on his weapon of choice.

The first thing you would be told after asking a S.H.I.E.L.D agent about Hawkeye would be his choice of weapons. His bow and arrow, to be precise.

Everyone assumed that Clint Barton used an bow and arrow for personal reasons. Some people, who knew a little of his history, would assume that maybe it was because when he was in the circus, where he earned the alias he now used as his codename, he had used a bow and arrow as his prop. Well, prop may have been a bit to loose. He had been the star of the circus, the boy who could walk on tight ropes or hang upside down on a trapeze and hit any target dead centre with a simple arrow. It had been used because it was such a seemingly harmless weapon, one that was showier than anything else. At least, that was the logic Carson, the boss, had used.

After years of corruption and persuasion, Clint had been moulded into a killer. A silent, ruthless, killer. It was his weapon that made him so deadly, even from the distance of a sniper, he could take a target down with a single, soundless, arrow. It was the most customisable weapon, with any detail having the ability to be adjustable or completely removable. It was so simple that Clint had made the majority of his weapons on his own, added his own accessories and perfected every last curve.

The S.H.I.E.L.D Research and Development department had experienced excessive grief over their recurve bow designs and the functionality of their quivers, until they had finally caved and allowed one Agent Barton to help them design the weapons. It turned out to be the best choice they had ever made, and there was a significant decline in the quantities of paracetamol and ibuprofen taken from the medical wing.

Clint Barton used all kinds of bow, from simple recurves to double crossbows and longbows. A weapon was, by very definition, designed to hurt. Clint thought of it as a bonus that people were ignorant when it came to bows and arrows, choosing to simply kick them aside rather than use the weapon as their own. While not everyone could use a bow, everyone had the ability to at least pick up an arrow and attempt to use it as a spear, or to use the limbs as a simple blunt force weapon. He took the time to teach Natasha about bows, particularly the names of each specific part, how to make each part and how to loose an arrow with the best chance of hitting a target. It was useful, particularly when she was the one who replaced parts of the bow or when she was the one left holding the bow.

No matter how long Clint had used a bow for, or how many benefits there were when using a bow or how much he loved bows, Clint's preferred weapon would never be a bow.

No, his preferred weapon was simply a knife.

A knife could be concealed in the sole of a shoe, in the side of a boot, it could be strapped to a limb or tucked in the waist band of pants. There were many more ways to hide a knife than a bow, and there were many more advantages. Knives were still projectiles, but they were better in close combat and much easier to maintain. A blunt knife could easily be distinguished from a newly sharpened blade, and they were not exclusive to any one material. A wooden knife, while weaker than a steel knife, could hold up if carved correctly. There was no fussing with shafts and fletching or grooves and grips.

A knife was the one weapon Clint would choose above all other weapons, because the small blade could save a life or take a life. A blade could dig out a bullet or pierce a heart, leaving very few traces behind. A knife was discreet, yet effective.

While a bow and arrow would always be important to Clint, the weapon was not very high on his list of favourites. A sniper rifle, a submachine gun, a handgun and a knife would always be the weapons he would prefer, the weapons he chose when there were no constraints.


End file.
